The Prophecy

A caelo usque ad centrum.
We have always known the world was ours, from the skies to its very heart. We know we will inherit the legacy of Avras, a world united under our paw, for the benefit of all. In time, the world must come to know its rightful masters.
Quod cito fit, cito perit.
We must be patient. Our kings once sought to walk before they could scurry. Now we take care to keep our strength hidden, and embrace mastery of the world below. Beneath notice, beneath secrecy, and sometimes in the very Deeps themselves.
Mors certa, hora incerta.
Our mastery is not unchallenged. A scout has returned from an expedition, reporting the strangest of encounters. A dwarf unlike any other. Bigger than a hulk, with the strength of many guards. Holding a tunnel against a legion, and sending them scurrying home. Surely the scout lies to explain his own failings. I shall investigate.
Volo non fugia.
It is true! This giant among dwarves, this foulness strides the Deeps as a titan. He blocks our passage, and his eyes glitter with hatred. For our glorious kind, or for any who would pass. Our weapons broke against his great shield. In the end, sacrifices were made to ensure my safe return, all two hundred are to be commended. We shall delve elsewhere in our future plans.